Beyond Beautiful
by Lady Razorsharp
Summary: UPDATED: Ch. 8 up. Grieving for his brother, Shin receives an odd instruction: He is to meet the past...
1. Civilized Savages

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Sunrise Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.  
  
  
  
AN: I had a request for a sequel to "Every Little Thing", and I thought that wasn't possible. Then I thought about it…and this is the result. Hope you enjoy it.  
  
  
  
Beyond Beautiful  
  
By The Lady Razorsharp  
  
Lyrics: "Beyond Beautiful" by Aerosmith  
  
Ch 1: Civilized Savages  
  
You gave up the love you got  
  
And that is that  
  
She loves me now  
  
She loves you not  
  
And that is that  
  
Just when you thought your love was deep  
  
It's finders keepers  
  
Losers weep  
  
If you squinted your eyes just right, it looked just like another large corporation, having one of their high-end soirees. Then you looked closer, and you noticed the Red Lapels seated on the velvet couches. You saw the young men and women in long black coats trimmed with gold braid perusing the sumptuous buffet table. Then your eyes finally turned to the opposite end of the room, where three ancient Chinese men sat silently presiding over all, the glitter of the lights on their rheumy eyes the only indication they were alive.  
  
~And even then, that's doubtful,~ Julia mused, pulling her wine-colored burnout velvet wrap tighter around her bare shoulders. She sighed, turning away from the Van's dais. Vicious was off who knew where, no doubt seeing and being seen by those who needed to see and be seen by him. A smartly dressed waiter offered her a glass of champagne, and she selected one with the elegant lassitude she knew befit the women of her caste.  
  
She took a mouthful of the sparkling wine, feeling it tingle all the way down. ~At least it's good booze. If nothing else, I can tell Vicious I have a headache tonight--and mean it.~ Vicious could be a passionate lover, but he was also a demanding one. Refusing him usually meant an evening of suffering, like some gourmet feast of pain. Appetizer, verbal threats. Salad: a miniature version of the Spanish Inquisition on where and with who she'd been. Soup: bloody noses and black eyes, bruises and torn clothes. Then time for the main dish, where Vicious gorged himself on her broken body, using it to fill the black hole that howled in the pit of his belly. Dessert was usually made of salt--his tears, falling on her as he whispered how sorry he was that he had to hurt her, and that he would never do it again.  
  
Julia drained her glass, then caught the eye of a passing waiter and lifted the glass toward him. The waiter, a young man with dark hair and dark eyes, immediately came over. Julia favored him with a smile, the tiny curving of her lips that she knew made her look like a porcelain doll. Right on cue, the boy smiled back, proffering his tray as if presenting a platter of topazes to a queen.  
  
"You look lovely tonight, Miss Julia," he said politely. Normally the hired help was discouraged from speaking to the guests, but Vicious enjoyed hearing others compliment her. More than that, however, incurred his wrath.  
  
"Vicious-san is a very lucky man."  
  
Julia kept her smile in place until the boy had gone. Then she glanced at her gold wristwatch; it was nearly nine-thirty. Vicious would stay no more than another half-hour, then it would be time to see her home and invite himself upstairs. She turned toward the richly carved doors under the high dais, hoping against hope that they would part in the next few seconds to admit--  
  
The doors swung open as three young men stepped into the room. Julia closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she had conjured them out of her own longing, but they were still there when she opened her eyes. It truly was Spike, flanked on either side by Lin and Shin, his twin shadows. Calls of greeting floated above the notes of the string quartet, and Spike raised his hand to acknowledge them, his garnet eyes picking out familiar faces in the crowd. Then he saw Julia, his eyes locking with hers for just an instant longer.  
  
Her skin felt hot; it was champagne mixed with desire, threatening to drop her to the carpet in an unseemly swoon. Before she could pass out, she turned and made her way to the balcony, where she dove into the chilled pool of blackness that was the Martian night. 


	2. Fate

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Sunrise Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.  
  
Beyond Beautiful  
  
By The Lady Razorsharp  
  
Lyrics: "Beyond Beautiful" by Aerosmith  
  
Ch 2: Fate  
  
Love my Love my  
  
Love du jour  
  
Sheza mine all mine  
  
My mind's made up  
  
Yeah I'm so sure  
  
Cuz there's none so fine  
  
This ain't about  
  
No losin' sleep  
  
It's all about  
  
The love you keep  
  
  
  
The smell of cigarette smoke told her he was there.  
  
Julia leaned back against the wall, her arms clutched about the bodice of her burgundy satin dress, her fingers tracing the velvet roses on her wrap. The night air was cool on the back of her neck, since she'd pinned her blond waves up with a pair of mahogany chopsticks. Right now, she longed to pull them out, just so she could watch Spike's face soften from that of a killing machine to a hot-blooded man as the golden strands fell down around her shoulders. She dared not, and simply watched him as he smoked on the other side of the door, the side of his face illuminated by the light spilling from the doorway.  
  
"Nice party," he commented, smoke rolling from his mouth with the words.  
  
She sighed. "I suppose so."  
  
He ground the cigarette out beneath his shoe. There was a moment's silence, then: "You look beautiful tonight."  
  
Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. "Spike," she whispered, turning away from him.  
  
"Julia," he whispered back, taking a step forward into the light, then glancing to his right into the ballroom. He stepped back.  
  
"Don't say such things."  
  
"Even if they're true?" He was in front of her now; somehow he had managed to skirt the light, walking near the railing where the night provided a bridge for him to cross to her. "Julia." His fingers tilted her chin up, making her look into his lean face. "I can't do this forever. I'm not made of stone."  
  
"I know," she breathed, laying her head against his shoulder, the dark wool of his coat scratchy beneath her cheek. She pressed her nose into the fabric, smelling a mix of gunpowder and cigarettes and cologne; his scent, the smell of a man who was real and warm and alive.  
  
"Vicious will have to know the truth someday."  
  
She sighed. "And you don't think he already does?"  
  
"No. Otherwise I'd be dead by now."  
  
Julia's heart squeezed again. A flash passed before her eyes, one of herself dressed in black, weeping into a lace handkerchief in the pouring rain. A coffin, draped with a pall embroidered with the Red Dragon crest, making its way into the red Martian soil. Vicious, his cold eyes showing no emotion as he tossed a white rose tipped with red into the grave. Those same eyes raised to hers in a silent communication: This is what becomes of those who betray me.  
  
"I have to go back inside," she stammered, pulling away from him and stepping back into the light.  
  
"Julia!" Spike hissed behind her, but she didn't turn around. Instead, she composed herself back into her doll-like self, her flesh freezing back into its porcelain hardness.  
  
Vicious broke away from a knot of Black Coats he was speaking with and held out his hand to her. "Ah, Julia. I have some bad news, my dear." His hand was ice-cold in hers, his manicured nails digging into her flesh. "There is some business I need to take care of this evening. I want you to run along home; don't wait up for me. I'll see you tomorrow." He left an icy kiss on her cheek, one that made all the young gangsters around him smile behind their highball glasses. "Spike, my friend, you're just in time."  
  
Julia blinked, careful not to let her surprise show beyond that simple fluttering of her lids.  
  
"Oh? What for?" came Spike's voice from behind her. She turned to see him standing there, and in the light, he looked like any other Syndicate cog; long dark coat, fluid black pants with knife-like creases, black leather shoes. The coat hid the Jericho strapped to his side, but now she noticed that his burgundy poplin shirt and matching tie were the exact shade of her dress. Over all was his mop of messy green hair, his lopsided grin, and piercing garnet eyes. Those eyes flicked to her as he dipped his head in a show of respect in the presence of a beautiful lady; that much he could do in Vicious' presence.  
  
"I need you to do me a favor, old friend." Vicious laid his hand against Julia's shoulder, running his fingers lightly over her pale skin. "I have to work late tonight. Would you see to it that Julia gets home safely?"  
  
Spike nodded. "I'd be glad to."  
  
"I am in your debt, my friend." Vicious kissed Julia's hand, but the gesture was stiff instead of gallant. "Run along now, dearest. Goodnight, Spike." 


	3. Angels in Hell

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop; Sunrise Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.  
  
  
  
Beyond Beautiful  
  
By The Lady Razorsharp  
  
  
  
Lyrics: "Beyond Beautiful" by Aerosmith  
  
  
  
Part 3: Angels in Hell  
  
Yeah she's a beyond beautiful  
  
Yeah she's never been nobody's  
  
Fool that you be stuck with  
  
Yeah it's all about me and you  
  
Believe it or not  
  
This love that we got  
  
Is beyond beautiful  
  
  
  
"Julia, wait!"  
  
Spike chased after the blond woman, his long black coat flapping as he dashed across the polished granite floor of the lobby. The glass doors parted for him, and he finally caught up with her as she was waving her hand for a taxi. Several sped by her, their drivers either not noticing or not caring about an agitated female in evening dress.  
  
"The car's this way," Spike said, trying to take her arm to lead her back to the underground parking garage, where the Syndicate driver was waiting with a discreet black sedan. To his surprise, she shook off his touch and resumed trying to hail a cab.  
  
"Spike, you yourself said it; you're not made of stone. You don't have to see me home. I can make it there just fine." Another cab whizzed by, and she growled in frustration.  
  
"Maybe you're not showing enough leg," Spike joked, his grin widening when she smiled despite herself. "Ah, you'd better not smile! Don't smile!" He cackled as she grinned and shook her head. "Seriously, though, Vicious asked me as a personal favor." Spike watched the passing traffic for a moment. "Besides…I want to."  
  
Julia gathered her wrap closer around her shoulders. "I know. That's why I'm getting my own ride home."  
  
Spike sighed; she could be so headstrong sometimes. That was one of things he loved about her, that she wasn't the porcelain doll everyone thought her to be. "At least let me get a cab for you." He held out a hand and put the fingers of the other hand between his teeth. The resulting whistle was loud even above the traffic noise. "Taxi!"  
  
As if by magic, a yellow hovercar purred up to them. The driver--a teenage boy who looked barely old enough to drive--poked his head out of the right side. "Need a ride for y'self and the missus, Gov'nor?" the boy chriped in a Cockney accent.  
  
"Take this lady wherever she wants to go," Spike said, his voice flat and businesslike. He slipped the boy a hundred-woolong note, then held the door for Julia and guided her into the taxi. When she was settled, he shocked her by getting in beside her and shutting the door.  
  
"Spike, what are you doing?" she hissed.  
  
"I'm doing what Vicious asked me to--making sure you get home safely." He rapped on the plexiglass separating them from the driver.  
  
"Where to?"  
  
"Twenty-third avenue and Janus Street," Julia intoned, her eyes never leaving Spike's face.  
  
"Right-o," the driver said, switching on the meter and pulling away from the curb.  
  
* * *  
  
Julia turned the key in the lock, pushing her front door open slightly. "Thank you for seeing me home, Spike. Goodnight."  
  
The lanky gangster leaned against the doorframe. "What, just 'goodnight Spike', and you send me on my merry way? That's no way for a man to be repaid for doing his duty." He stepped closer, and Julia had to make a conscious effort not to dive under his arm and slam the door. "I should at least get a kiss for my trouble."  
  
"You don't know what you're asking, Spike." Julia sighed and leaned her head against the door. "You know as well as I do that it won't stop there."  
  
With reflexes made lightning-quick from his martial arts training, Spike pulled her into the room and shut the door, pinning her against it with a hand on either side of her. "Then it won't stop there." He nuzzled kisses along her jaw and down her neck, making her want to sink to the worn floorboards in a puddle of satin and flesh. "Julia…please."  
  
"I can't," she whispered, her fingers already working at the clasp of his coat. "He'll kill me."  
  
"Then he'll just have to kill me too," Spike rasped, his hands at the zipper of her gown. Proving that he had all the gallantry that Vicious would never have, he swung her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He lay her on the bed as gently as if she truly had been made of porcelain, her wine-dark gown spreading like a bloodstain against the white sheets.  
  
Spike's garnet eyes never left Julia's cerulean ones as he quickly divested himself of gangster finery; the black coat draped across the foot of the bed, the shirt and tie laying where they fell on the floor. Shoes and pants and boxers all melted away like snow in the current running between them. Then Spike removed her gown, kissing every inch of skin he revealed to the cool night air.  
  
"Is this the way it's supposed to be?" she whispered as he slid into bed next to her.  
  
He smiled--not his lopsided grin, but a soft smile, with his heart in his eyes. "Yes. This is the way it's supposed to be."  
  
* * *  
  
Spike was finally asleep, his body strewn across hers with his head buried in her shoulder. She stroked the fine hairs on the back of his neck, staring up at the ceiling beyond his shoulder. Her body ached from making love to him all night long, but that was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.  
  
~We're all going to die,~ she thought, watching the dawn paint Spike's hair a brilliant green. ~Or maybe we're already dead, and this is hell--loving someone you can't have.~  
  
His eyes were open now. He'd felt her stir beneath him, and he slid off of her to lie beside her on the mattress. "You look like an angel," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.  
  
~Yes,~ she sighed, her body responding to his all over again. ~This is hell.~ 


	4. All Fall Down

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop; Sunrise Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.  
  
  
  
Beyond Beautiful  
  
By The Lady Razorsharp  
  
  
  
Lyrics: "Beyond Beautiful" by Aerosmith  
  
  
  
Part 4: All Fall Down  
  
  
  
Full on lust to full on love without no clue  
  
And all I was so unsure of and then came you  
  
Into my life it served me right  
  
Nobody ever did it quite like you  
  
  
  
It was a beautiful June morning, perfect for a wedding day.  
  
Julia clutched her bouquet of red roses nervously, waiting in the happy crowd of bridesmaids clustered behind the foyer doors. The roses gave off a wonderful fragrance, and Julia brought them to her nose to inhale deeply of their scent.  
  
"It's time!" came the excited whisper, and the doors swung open to reveal the nave. Every pew was packed full with well-wishers, all wildly happy to see Spike and Julia, the love match of the ages, wed each to their own heart's desire. She practically floated down the aisle as the pipe organ thundered a jubilant wedding march.  
  
As she passed under the colored light streaming from the windows, Julia knew every eye was on her. The guests--each and every one dear to her, though she couldn't see their faces through the white sheen of her veil-- poured out their love to her and Spike with handfuls of rose petals. Her path was strewn with them; she walked towards her love on a carpet of fragrance.  
  
He was standing there waiting for her at the altar steps. Tears of joy started at the corners of her eyes to see him there, looking so handsome in his white coat and black tie. The windows of the church shot rainbow colors through his verdant hair, turning his garnet eyes to prisms. Behind him, nearly crying themselves, were Lin and Shin, the dear twin boys. They had stood with Spike through thick and thin, and it touched her heart to see them still standing with him--only this time, for a celebration of life, instead of a gruesome hour of death. Annie and Mao were there, smiling their blessing on the young people they'd practically raised. Even the Elders were there, their heads bowed in silent, grave permission for this perfect union.  
  
The priest standing at the top of the steps was wearing vestments of scarlet and gold, the sunlight turning his golden mitre into a blaze of glory. His crozier gleamed; the amethyst on his hand glowed with purple radiance as he brought his hand up to bless them. Spike slipped his hand into hers. The moment had come.  
  
The light disappeared, as if someone had blown out the sun like a candle.  
  
The priest threw his crozier to the ground, where it turned into a viper. Julia dropped her bouquet in surprise, rose petals splashing like droplets of blood on the floor. She looked frantically to Spike and the others, but they were standing like alabaster statues. Her breath stolen from her by horror, Julia backed away, tripping over the edge of the carpet.  
  
The priest picked up the bouquet, shrugging off his heavy vestments to reveal Vicious in his usual Syndicate uniform. He pulled the bouquet apart, littering the carpet around his feet with the blooms, as he revealed a sub-machine gun hidden deep within her bouquet. Vicious calmly checked the clip and set his stance, pointing the muzzle right between Spike's eyes.  
  
Vicious had suddenly grown a pair of huge, black-feathered wings. He was the angel of death, and his voice was like a wind that howled in dry, barren, loveless places. It was a voice from Hell. "Say goodbye, Julia."  
  
Scrambling to her feet, she took two running steps and jumped toward Spike, her white satin shoes leaving the ground. "NOOOO!" she screamed, but the sound was cut off as bullets thudded into her chest, her throat, her side. Blood stained her white dress as the bullets traveled through her and into Spike. They fell together, side by side on the carpet. Their hands were slick with each other's blood as they twined their fingers together.  
  
Spike's right eye opened to a slit, but blood seeped from under the lids on the left. "Just a dream," he whispered, and she knew he was dead.  
  
Vicious was standing over her, his black wings sheltering her. He put the still-warm muzzle to her forehead, then pulled the trigger.  
  
  
  
"Uhn!" Julia bolted upright in bed, sweat plastering her blond hair to her face and neck. Beside her, Spike stirred, opening his eyes and yawning. When he saw her sitting there, her blue eyes frozen wide with terror, he sat up and tried to gather her into his arms.  
  
"Julia, what's wrong?" He tried to get her to look at him, but she pulled away from his touch. "Did you have a nightmare?"  
  
"A premonition." She stared at him, her breath finally starting to slow back to normal. "Spike, I want you to tell Vicious you don't want to take part in the sting."  
  
The Syndicate got a good deal of its funds from the sale of illegal drugs, but when rival gangs or upstart entrepreneurs tried to get into the act, the Syndicate took quick, decisive action. Tonight's sting operation was to be such a show of strength. "It's just another day at the office," Spike quipped. "If you want a nine-to-five guy, then you've fallen in love with the wrong person."  
  
She knew it was hopeless to try and stop him. Spike loved the adrenaline rush from dodging bullets and showing his long middle finger to the face of death. She tried again; couldn't he change? Wasn't her love enough for him? "Spike…I dreamed of our wedding day."  
  
That elicited a grin from the lanky young man, and he leaned back on the bed with his hands behind his head. "I can just imagine it." He glanced over at her, his face full of love for her. "You'd look so beautiful in a wedding dress."  
  
Julia shook her head, tears flooding her eyes. "But it wasn't beautiful. Vicious killed everyone. He murdered us while we were standing at the altar."  
  
There were a few moments of silence as Julia's words hung in the air like a black, murky cloud. When Spike spoke again, his voice was hollow. "They say if you die in your dreams, then you die for real. We're not dead."  
  
She raised her head to look at him, sorrow weighing heavily on her pale shoulders. "Maybe were are. Maybe this is the dream."  
  
He flicked his garnet gaze to her, his mouth set in a hard line. "All the more reason I have to go tonight. If I get killed, then I'll finally be able to wake up." Spike sat up, taking her face in his hands and wiping away her tears. "Then I'll wait for you to wake up, too."  
  
* * *  
  
She packed a suitcase for a quick getaway. If Spike died, Julia knew she couldn't bear to stay in the apartment where they'd spent so much time together. She wouldn't be able to sleep another night in the bed they'd made love in, never cook a meal or listen to the stereo or look out the window without thinking about him. So intent was she on finishing her task that the knock on the door startled her.  
  
~Is it over already?~ she wondered, her heart suddenly in her throat. ~Have they come to tell me that he's dead?~ She moved toward the door as if underwater, her movements slow and fluid as she reached for the doorknob. A wave of reality crashed over her as she opened the door to reveal Vicious standing there, a small smile playing about his thin lips.  
  
"Vicious! What are you doing here?" She stiffened, knowing instantly that those were the wrong words to say. He was her lover; he should be expected.  
  
"Surprised to see me?" He stepped inside, hands in the pockets of his finely tailored pants, and she shut the door mechanically, as if she were a robot.  
  
"No, not really. It's just that--"  
  
"Just that it's usually Spike who comes knocking at your door," Vicious spat, his ice-blue eyes blazing with fury. He studied her at length, and Julia felt like an animal in a trap, caught by a hunter whose strategy was far beyond her puerile brain. "You've sealed his fate, Julia. You don't have a single clue about what events you've set in motion."  
  
She snatched her hands up to her head, covering her ears. "Stop it!"  
  
He was in her face, yanking her hands down by her wrists. "It WON'T stop, Julia! Not until we're all dead, do you understand?" He pushed her away so hard that she lost her balance and fell sprawling to the floor. "'The time will come when not one stone will be left on another; every one of them will be thrown down.'*" Vicious turned his cold eyes on Julia as she sat weeping on the floor. "This is what you have done."  
  
There was another knock at the door, and Julia gasped. Vicious glanced at the door, then back at her. "Well. Aren't you going to let him in?"  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Spike didn't smile when she opened the door. The light had gone from the room, casting everything in the blue shadows of twilight as he stepped inside. Just over the threshold, he stopped, his hands in his pockets. She noticed he had on a new suit, with a trenchcoat over all instead of his Syndicate uniform. He was meant to be the operative in the sting, posing as a buyer for the illegal drugs. As usual, he'd put himself in a position where he could get the maximum adrenaline jolt, but now he seemed leaden.  
  
They stood there for what seemed like forever. Thunder rolled in the distance, and rain began to patter on the street outside. His voice, when he spoke, was almost indistinguishable from that low rumble in the sky.  
  
"When this is over, I'm leaving the Syndicate."  
  
Something in his eyes had changed. He knew something, had found out something. Had it been her dream? She thought she could hear Vicious' slow breathing on the other side of the door. How could she convince Spike that she had been so wrong?  
  
"They'll kill you," she said in a desperate hush. "You know how they work."  
  
He smiled grimly. "Hnh. Let them say I'm dead." He stretched out his hand, a slip of paper in his fingers. "I'll be waiting in the graveyard. BY the graves, not IN one of them."  
  
~Yes, you will. And I've dug it with my own hands..~ "Spike…I can't come with you." She tried not to let her eyes flick toward the bedroom door behind him.  
  
"Yes you can. We'll leave here. And get out of this."  
  
She was so tired all of a sudden. So tired… "And go where?" she asked him wearily. "And do what?"  
  
Spike's eyes glittered in the low light. "Live. Be free. It'll be like watching a dream." His hand was still holding the note. She realized the slip of paper was the key to her freedom--either they truly could escape, or they would both be killed. Either way, they'd be free. He was right.  
  
Julia reached out, her fingers brushing his as she took the note from him.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
No sooner than the door had closed behind Spike than the gun thudded against her scalp, the cold metal nosing through her golden hair to touch her skin.  
  
"So. You were going to betray me." His voice was barely audible above the rain. "Did you really think you could just leave?"  
  
"Vicious--"  
  
"Keep dreaming, Julia. It's never going to happen."  
  
Julia went cold. She turned toward him, daring him to put a bullet between her eyes. "Are you going to kill him?" ~And if you are, just kill me now, so I can be waiting for him.~  
  
He smiled. She felt sick, remembering how she'd found his smile full of mystery at the beginning, like he had secrets to share just with her. "I won't." He pulled the gun away from her head and laid it on the table. "You're going to do it for me."  
  
She jerked, feeling invisible bullets plow their way into her heart.  
  
Vicious actually looked like he was enjoying himself. "Either you kill him, or you both die. Those are your only options."  
  
  
  
The gun was still lying on the table where Vicious left it. For an instant, Julia considered throwing it through the window, smashing the glass into a million pieces. Instead, she picked up Spike's note, feeling the creases his fingers had folded just a few moments ago. She brought the paper to her lips and kissed it, then ripped it into pieces. She opened the window and let the bits of paper fall to the ground, where they drifted like rose petals to the sidewalk.  
  
  
  
* Luke 21:6, NIV 


	5. Broken Toys

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Sunrise Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.  
  
  
  
Beyond Beautiful  
  
By The Lady Razorsharp  
  
  
  
Part 5: Broken Toys  
  
  
  
It was just one hour ago  
  
It was all so different  
  
Nothing has really sunk in  
  
Looks like it always did  
  
This flesh and bone  
  
--Peter Gabriel  
  
  
  
Julia sat at her window, watching the streetlights come on one by one. As the light faded from the sky, so it faded from her soul. Both the men she cared about would be dead before the night was over, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.  
  
She tipped her head forward against the cool glass, staring at her reflection. When had the three of them become like a runaway train, everything threatening to crack itself apart on impact? Had it been her fault? She shook her head; she couldn't make herself love Vicious, no matter how hard she tried. He was just too cold. Nothing except violence penetrated that stone heart of his. Spike was warm; she'd known that the moment she met him at the billiard hall. She'd looked into his garnet eyes and saw fire banked deep inside of him. She'd felt his touch against her skin, felt it warm her down to the soul as they lay together, breathing together.  
  
She gripped her elbows and clutched her arms tightly to her, trying to hold on to the memory of that warmth. Just that morning he'd lain beside her, pouring that heat into her again and again. ~Spike, where are you?~ she cried silently, tears blurring the streetlights into shapeless blobs of molten gold.  
  
There was a movement out of the corner of her eye, and she glanced down to the street. Someone was walking down the yellow-hued sidewalk, stumbling from lamppost to mailbox to parked car. ~Just some poor old drunk bum,~ she thought, wiping her tears away. When her vision cleared, however, she was able to see the torn, bloodied trenchcoat, the long, shaking legs, the matted puff of hair.  
  
~SPIKE!~  
  
Tipping over the chair in her haste, Julia ran across the room and tore open the door, then clattered down the stairs and hit the outside door running. Spike was just standing there, bleeding all over the sidewalk, his ragged breaths echoing against the concrete. Then he tipped his head back and tried to fix her with a smile. She could just hear him: ~Did you get the license plate of that truck?~ His mouth worked soundlessly, and Julia let out a tiny gasp of horror as the streetlight shone wetly on the blood streaming down the right side of his face.  
  
She took a step toward him, and he tried to walk forward into her arms. His legs gave out from underneath him, and Spike toppled to the ground in a bloody heap. He hit the cement like a ton of bricks; she felt the vibration from where she was standing.  
  
Numb, she knelt beside him. His hands were like already like ice. She pressed his slack fingers between her own, trying to will her warmth into him. It wasn't working; his cold flesh was stealing her heat, sapping it away until she was numb in body as well as soul.  
  
A screech of tires made her look up, but everything looked so far away, like in a dream. A long black limousine was parked at the curb, its running lights looking like rubies and topazes in the night. Mao Yenrai burst from the back door of the car, his face a mask of horror as he surveyed the scene. Julia saw his hands reach for her, felt him shake her roughly.  
  
"Julia! Listen to me! We've got to get Spike out of here!"  
  
She blinked, everything coming back to normal speed. "Y-yenrai-san?" she ventured, her voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.  
  
"Let him go, child!" She looked up again as two of Mao's personal guards picked Spike up as if he weighed nothing. Spike's hand slipped out of hers and dangled limply over the arm of one of the guards. Then Mao was pulling her to her feet and hurrying her into the back seat of the limousine. "Go!" he shouted at the driver as the door clumped shut.  
  
They settled Spike gently on the bench in front of them, drops of his blood spotting the carpet and the leather upholstery. Suddenly, he began to spasm violently, and Julia screamed.  
  
Mao turned pale. "Floor it, Krensky!" he barked into the driver's compartment.  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
Everything lurched as the car picked up speed. Julia climbed up onto the seat and pulled Spike's head into her lap, heedless of the blood. Immediately, Spike's spasms calmed, and he opened his left eye. His pupil was a mere black dot in a field of reddish brown.  
  
"Julia…"  
  
She kissed him on the forehead, her golden hair making a curtain around them. "I'm right here," she said softly, smoothing the viridian hair back from his face.  
  
"It hurts," he rasped. "Eye feels like s'on fire." He tried to open his right eye, but winced as a fresh stream of blood seeped from under the lids, like scarlet tears. "Can't see."  
  
"Don't think about it right now," Julia whispered back, kissing his cheeks, his forehead with quick little flutters of her lips. "I love you, Spike, I love you." Her tears splashed against his face, washing away some of the blood.  
  
He smiled, then his limbs began twitching again. "NO, nono, Spike, don't!" Julia pleaded, trying to keep his head still. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay, don't! Nono don't, not again! SPIKE!" She raised her eyes to Mao, whose own stare was fixed on the twitching young man. "He's dying!" she whispered.  
  
"Hold on, Spike," Mao breathed, his jaw clenched. "Just hold on."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Mao decided that Spike would be safer recuperating at her apartment. The hospital was too open; anyone posing as a visitor could come and finish the job. Julia was just glad Spike was alive. She hadn't let death have him. She'd be damned if she let anyone else have a chance.  
  
After the surgeons had stabilized Spike, they had gone to work on repairing the damage to his body. For ten hours they had worked to stitch his organs and muscles back together, and had pronounced the surgery a success. Though such news had brought a warm flood of relief, Julia remembered the chill wave of fear that had swept over her as the ophthalmic surgeon told her and Mao that Spike's eye was beyond help.  
  
"His cornea is severely damaged," he had said gently, his magnifying goggles perched on his head like an alien set of eyes. "And his retina is torn. We could replace his cornea with that of a donor, and repair the retina, but there would be too much scar tissue. Spike would never be able to see, and there might be other complications as well." He studied her and Mao, genuine pity in his face. "I think it's best if we just fit him for a prosthetic."  
  
"He is…an expert marksman," Mao said slowly. "Do you think he will be able to compensate?"  
  
The doctor nodded. "I'm sure he will. His right eye is perfectly normal. He may have some issues with navigation, but he'll learn how to get around that."  
  
"Very well," Mao had said. "Do what's best for Spike. That's all I ask."  
  
  
  
The next time Julia saw Spike, he looked like a mummy, wrapped nearly from head to toe in bandages. The nurses would instruct her on how to change the bandages daily, and Julia walked into Spike's room with halting steps.  
  
"Come on in, dearie," said an older nurse as her younger subordinates bustled around the room. "He won't bite."  
  
The young ones giggled, and Julia gave them a sour frown. "Is he all right?" she asked, running her fingers down his bruised face.  
  
"As right as he CAN be, at the moment." The nurse chuckled. "Don't you worry, dearie. The morphine will make sure he doesn't feel a thing."  
  
For the next hour, Julia did as she was told, reducing herself to the motion of her hands as she carefully unwound the bloodied wrappings from Spike's abused body. A twin set of bullet wounds on his right side was still oozing blood, and she pressed a soft pad against his skin until the flow began to clot. As she worked, she hummed quietly, watching as his body began to relax.  
  
Finally, it was done, and the head nurse nodded in approval. "A very good job, dearie. You're a strong one, I'll give you that. No screaming or fainting."  
  
Julia lightly traced the outline of his mouth with a fingertip. "I love him," she said simply.  
  
The nurse smiled. "I know." She packed away the supplies and rose to leave. "Doctors can repair broken bodies, stitch them back together--but love is what does the real healing." She stopped in the doorway. "Take good care of him."  
  
Julia sank to the chair beside the bed, twining her fingers in Spike's. "I will."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Spike was moved to Julia's new apartment while his funeral was taking place.  
  
The whole affair was pure torture for Julia, watching Vicious as he stood silently next to the pall-draped coffin. The wood and metal box was filled with sandbags to approximate Spike's weight, so everything would look official to those clustered around the coffin. Lin and Shin were two of the pallbearers, and Julia's heart ached for them as they stared at the coffin, tears streaming down their faces despite their stony expressions. Annie, God help her, sobbed as if her heart would break. She'd practically raised Spike, and she sat with Mao's hand on her shoulder, weeping into her handkerchief.  
  
Julia wanted to whisper in Annie's ear that Spike was alive. She wanted to tell the twins the same, and make them swear never to tell. Mao could do that, couldn't he? Julia looked to him in desperation. He was the most powerful man in the Syndicate, the man who answered to the Elders alone. He would make things right.  
  
Mao caught Julia's gaze, dark brown to blue. He shook his head slightly.  
  
Julia's heart dropped to her knees. Annie, Lin and Shin, everyone who had loved Spike--they would never know the truth--that Spike was alive, not three miles from the graveyard.  
  
  
  
After the funeral, Julia went home and took off her black dress. She changed into a pink blouse and a long denim skirt, then put on her brand- new white apron and went into the kitchen. Maybe the smell of food would bring Spike around, she mused; he'd been asleep for nearly three days.  
  
An hour later, the bread was in the oven and baking nicely. Nothing to do but sit and wait for it to be done, so she grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and dragged a chair next to the pull-out bed. Spike's side wound was still oozing blood ever so slightly, and Julia frowned. She'd have to mention that to Mao; maybe the stitches weren't placed correctly. She flipped through the magazine, singing one of Spike's favorite songs under her breath.  
  
~I saw her today at the reception/A glass of wine in her hand/I knew she was gonna meet her connection /At her feet was her footloose man…You can't always get what you want…~  
  
"Please…"  
  
Startled, Julia looked up from her magazine. Spike's right eye was open, his face turned slightly towards hers.  
  
"Please…sing for me. Just like that," he whispered.  
  
She smiled. 


	6. Flight of Dragons

DISCLAIMER: Cowboy Bebop property of Sunrise, Inc. Original story, property of me.  
  
  
  
AN: Most of these are from Julia's point of view, but somehow Spike ended up in this one…  
  
  
  
Beyond Beautiful  
  
By The Lady Razorsharp  
  
  
  
Part 6: Flight of Dragons  
  
  
  
If this life gets any harder now  
  
It ain't, no, never mind  
  
You got me by your side  
  
And any time you want  
  
Yeah, we can catch a train and  
  
Find a better place…  
  
--Aerosmith  
  
  
  
Julia sat on the bed, watching Spike as he pulled clothes from the bureau. He tossed a pile of shirts on the bed, then folded them one after another. Julia's eyes followed the movements of his hands as his long fingers smoothed the worn fabrics.  
  
"So you're leaving. Just like that."  
  
He nodded, snapping the wrinkles out of a teeshirt. "Yeah. Just like that."  
  
She closed her blue eyes for a moment, then picked out one of his shirts and buried her face in it. ~God, he smells so good.~ she thought, rubbing the fabric against her cheek. She felt a tug on the shirt, and looked up to see Spike pulling on the fabric, pulling it out of her hands. With a small sigh, Julia let him have the shirt.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Spike finished folding the shirt and dropped it into his suitcase. He stared at the small case with his hands on his slim hips; all his worldly possessions wouldn't even half-fill it by the time he was done. "I thought you weren't going to ask me that," he said softly.  
  
Julia's fingers tightened on the bedspread. "I never promised you I wouldn't. I just was afraid to ask, before."  
  
He turned back to the closet and dragged the last remaining shirt--a pale yellow one--off its wire hanger. The hanger pinged against its fellows as Spike pulled the shirt over his bare shoulders. "I'm dead to everyone here, Julia," he reminded her. "A ghost can't walk the streets of his home town."  
  
Tears filled her eyes as he plucked his tie from the closet rod. "You're not dead to me. Isn't that what matters?"  
  
Spike cupped her face in his hands, stroking her quivering chin with his thumbs. "Julia…it's better if I'm dead to you, too." He dropped his hands, turning toward her cheval mirror to knot his tie. He watched their reflection as Julia came up behind him. She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. ~Don't do that,~ he pleaded with her silently. ~If you hold on to me like that, I'll never leave you. You'll never be safe.~  
  
"Please, Spike. You asked me to come with you, remember? I'll go anywhere with you." She looked up into his face as he turned around. It was only now, at such close range, that Julia could see the slight difference in the garnet irises.  
  
"This isn't something I want you to see. There won't be a place for you where I'm going."  
  
Her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'll be the judge of that!"  
  
Spike shook her once, hard. "Stop it, Julia!" He looked at her, seeing her anger melt into hurt. "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you, but I've got no choice." He held her tight, stroking her golden hair.  
  
"You're running away. I want to run away with you." She undid a few buttons on his shirt and slipped her hand inside, feeling how his muscles flexed under the smooth skin. "Just the two of us, together."  
  
Desire sank its fangs into him, and Spike's first thought was to shove her away. ~Every moment we're together is another moment I put you in danger,~ the words echoed in his head. He knew he should say them, but her touch robbed him of anything resembling coherent speech. Instead, he cupped her face in his hands again and kissed her, giving in to the pull of his heart and body.  
  
"I love you, Spike," she whispered. "Forever."  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
When Spike woke up, it was raining.  
  
Rolling over, he looked at the clock. ~3:57 pm~ it read. As he stared at it, the red digital number winked back. ~3:58 pm.~  
  
God, he was supposed to leave four hours ago. ~All the best laid plans…~ Spike thought with a grim smile.  
  
Julia's side of the bed was empty, the sheets still rumpled from being wrapped around her slender form. Her pillow still had a divot in it from where she'd lain her golden head, and Spike buried his face in it. He could still smell her strawberry shampoo.  
  
~Maybe she was right. We could run away together, to the other side of the galaxy if need be,~ he thought. Raising his face out of the pillow, he glanced toward the slightly ajar bathroom door. "Hey, J--"  
  
It was then that he noticed the folded piece of paper standing next to the bedside lamp.  
  
Frowning, Spike reached over and retrieved the paper, reading his name in her neat printing on the front. A chill slid down his spine as he began to read, hearing her voice echo in his head.  
  
~Don't care for me, don't cry  
  
Let's say goodbye, adieu  
  
It's time to say goodbye, I know that in time  
  
It will just fade away, It's time to say goodbye~  
  
Spike realized with a start that the words were lyrics. The song had been a favorite of theirs, and it brought back memories of a night in a dark café, listening to a torch singer perform the song. The next day, Spike had went to the music store and bought the album for Julia, remembering how much she'd loved it. Now the words were daggers in his heart.  
  
He scrambled up from the bed, note still clenched in his fist. He flung the sliding closet door back on its runners. Empty. He pulled out the drawers of the bureau. Empty. Storming out into the kitchen, he found a plate of eggs and toast sitting on the stove, steam rising from the food. A pot of coffee wafted its dark, bitter scent into the air, and a jar of strawberry jam shimmered in the low light.  
  
~How many kinds of messed up is this?~ he thought angrily. ~The woman I love goes and leaves me, but still manages to fix me breakfast.~  
  
Too heartsick to eat, Spike wandered back into the bedroom. His clothes had been carefully laid out on the chair next to the bed, his suitcase sitting open on the chair. Shaking his head, he walked past the bed and into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, the warm water filling the bathroom with steam. Spike watched as the steam fogged the mirror, hiding his blank, numb expression from view. Idly, he wiped it clean with a sweep of his hand, revealing the face of a young man who looked like he'd just lost his last best friend. ~Probably because it's true,~ Spike thought, resting his head against the mirror as the tears began rolling down his cheeks.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
~I stand alone and watch you fade away like clouds  
  
High up and in the sky  
  
I'm strong and so cold  
  
As I stand alone  
  
Goodbye, so long, adieu~  
  
  
  
The torch singer's voice spun out of the convertible's speakers, mournful counterpoint to the drum of rain on the ragtop. Julia slipped on her sunglasses, trying not to look back at her apartment building. Spike was probably just waking up. She kept glancing back, thinking that any moment now, he was going to burst out onto the street, half-dressed and yelling for her to wait. He never did, and she drove on.  
  
  
  
~Oh how I love you so  
  
Lost in those memories  
  
And now you've gone  
  
I feel the pain, feeling like a fool, adieu~  
  
  
  
He couldn't seem to concentrate enough to actually go through the routine of a shower, so he turned off the water and went back into the bedroom. Spike pulled the Julia-scented sheet from the bed and wrapped it around him like a cloak, standing at the rain-splattered window. Julia's convertible was a swiftly retreating red dot in the distance, and he placed his hand against the glass. The car went over a ridge and disappeared from sight, and the flame of hope inside Spike's chest flickered and died.  
  
  
  
~My love for you  
  
Burns deep inside me, so strong  
  
Embers of times we had  
  
And now here I stand  
  
Lost in a memory  
  
I see your face  
  
And smile~  
  
  
  
AN: "Adieu" is off of CB OST 3: Blue. Words by Brian Richy, sung by Emily Bindiger. 


	7. Overture for Jupiter

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop; Sunrise, Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.

AN: Bet you guys thought this story was finished! Ha! 

I think I've watched "Jupiter Jazz 1 & 2" more than any other episodes of Cowboy Bebop, other than "Asteroid Blues". It's such a beautiful, sad story, one that made me cry almost as much as the end of the series.

Beyond Beautiful

Part 7: Drops of Jupiter

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star  
One without a permanent scar  
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there 

--Train

Two weeks before, Julia had peered out the window the morning after she arrived on Callisto, only to see everything covered in a pristine blanket of white. The sight had recalled memories of staying home from school on snow days, or of the weeks leading up to Christmas, but the feeling soon turned empty. It was like the little girl said in that book about the lion and the witch, she mused--always snow, but never Christmas.

Now, as she gazed into a steel-colored sky, Julia pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. The long, dark wool coat had been part of her Syndicate uniform once, a sumptuous garment trimmed with gold braid and lined with satin. The braid had long ago been ripped away. She wished she could do the same with the memories of her past life.

There really was no need for her sunglasses, but Julia slipped them on anyway. Two years of hiding in plain sight had made her cautious, and the gesture was nearly as automatic as breathing. She knew the way to the Blue Crow by heart, her booted feet picking their way along the dirty, slushy streets as if on autopilot. Soon, it would be time for her to move on again. For the millionth time, she wished she could just go home--if she only knew where that was.

__

That's a lie, her voice echoed in her head. _Home is where Spike is, no matter the address._

She kicked an empty beer can along the sidewalk, feeling as if the hollow sound was resonating from inside her, rather than from the cheap metal. Everything she knew was gone, even Vicious, if the infrequent bits of news she got were to be believed. Spike had never resurfaced, and in a way, she wondered if that was a mercy. If Vicious had not been killed on the wastelands of Titan, Julia knew that if Spike were to show one fuzzy green hair anywhere in the solar system, Vicious would be all over him like a cheap blue suit.

If the Blue Crow was the armpit of the universe, at least it was warmer than Callisto's permanent deep-freeze atmosphere. The pointed stares of the men still made her uncomfortable sometimes, even though her turtleneck sweater kept her covered from neck to wrist. Her jeans fit her slim hips, but were far from being tight, and the voluminous coat hid all. She knew that what really drew their attention was her hair--a fall of molten gold that shimmered even in Callisto's wan winter light--along with her summer-sky blue eyes. 

__

You don't see me, she thought, as if to mentally telegraph the words into the patrons' drunken brains. _Your sister, your high-school crush, the girl-next-door. That's who you see. Just look past me, don't see a scared, lonely woman on the run from the most powerful Syndicate in the galaxy._

The bartender moved in front of Julia, wiping the worn bar with an equally worn towel. "The usual?"

"Yes. Thank you." Julia glanced at the makeshift stage, where an aging piano and a saxophone shared space like old comrades. "Gren's playing tonight?"

The ice in her glass danced as the bartender flooded the cubes with amber liquid. "Would you be here if he wasn't?"

Julia smiled. "That's true."

As if on cue, a tall, willowy man with violet-black hair caught back in a loose ponytail stepped onto the stage, and the patrons began to buzz among themselves. One of the braver ones even whistled, and there were a few yowls of approval for the man's hawk-sharp, almost pretty features. "Okay, settle down, you degenerates," the young man scolded good-naturedly, adjusting the microphone to better capture his soft tenor voice. A young piano player settled himself on the rickety bench to the man's right, and the two men shared a companionable laugh at some whispered aside before the tall one at the mic addressed the patrons again. "For those of you who care, I'd like to play a little something I've been working on for a while. Hope you like it."

Among a smattering of half-hearted applause, Gren scanned the dim room. His azure eyes finally settled on Julia, and they shared a smile as he picked up the sax. As if preparing to kiss a lover, Gren wet his lips with a pale pink tongue and began to play.

The tune that spilled out of Gren's sax was slow and sensual, like a curl of cigarette smoke against a windowpane. It made her ache with longing for the touch of Spike's hands against her skin, his body next to hers. Memories of running in the rain, holding hands, stolen kisses in an alleyway--all of it came flooding back, and she shut her eyes against the tears welling up. Someone in the bar was smoking the same brand of cigarettes as Spike, and the acrid smell tore at her with needle-sharp fangs.

Resting her chin on her hand, Julia floated on the tide of Gren's music--until she discovered she was humming along. _She knew this song._ Her eyes flew open, her heart hammering away in her ears as she gripped the edge of the bar for dear life. 

__

"Vicious!"

It was sunset that Christmas Day when she caught up with him outside in the snow.

She placed the little box in his hand, the leather of his glove cold against her fingers. "This is for you."

Without moving his head, Vicious raised his ice-pale eyes from the box to her face. "I have nothing to give you in return."

She smiled. "That's okay. It's nothing big; just a little something to remember me by."

The pale eyes seemed to look into her very soul. "Why? Are you going somewhere?"

Her blood froze, but she kept her tone light. "Of course not! Look, just open it, okay?"

The tiny black-lacquered box sprang open with a tinkle of notes. "Such a delicate song," he remarked, his breath stirring the tangle of white hair hanging over his face. 

"I thought it was pretty. Do you like it?"

He closed his gloved fist around the box, shutting the lid and stilling the tune. "Yes," he murmured, running his gloved thumb against the miniature red rose painted on the lid. " I like it very much." 

By the time Gren finished cleaning the sax and stowed it carefully in its worn case, the bar was mostly empty. Shrugging into his coat, he waved goodnight to the bartender and stepped outside into the biting late-night air. Almost immediately, he felt the pressure of an equally cold gun barrel against the back of his neck, and he slowly raised his hands.

"If it's money you want, I don't have any," he shrugged. "Even my sax isn't worth much."

The voice that split the icy air was like the snarl of a lioness. "Where did you hear that song?"

Gren tried to turn around, but the gun prickled like ice against his cheek. "I got it from an old war buddy of mine, back on Titan. I don't know where he got it."

The gun pressed deeper into his smooth cheek. "You're lying!"

"I swear, it's the truth," Gren said evenly, the smell of gunpowder filling his nose. "My friend had this little music box, and he gave it to me when I asked him about the song. I've had it ever since." His fingers began to tingle as the blood drained to his elbows. "If you still don't believe me, you can come back to my apartment, and I'll show you."

The gun was snatched away, and Gren spun to see the blonde from the bar standing there in the snow. "You shouldn't be so bold," he warned. "These men out here will do what they want and leave you for dead."

"Hitting on women who pull a gun on you isn't very smart either," the woman retorted, "unless you've got a death wish of some kind."

To Julia's surprise, Gren smiled sadly. "I wasn't trying to hit on you. Don't take this personally, but I'm not interested in women." He raised his eyes to the night sky, snowflakes alighting in his dark hair. "As for death, he and I are on a first-name basis." Gren nodded toward a shabby blue high-rise in the distance. "Come on. It'll be warmer than standing around out here, anyway."

Gren's apartment was indeed warmer, especially with the gas fireplace purring to itself in the corner. Julia shed her coat and gloves and stretched her frozen hands toward the blue-orange flame while Gren put the kettle on in the kitchenette. "You have a nice place here," she remarked, looking around at the modest, yet comfortable furnishings.

"Thanks." Gren set two glasses on the coffee table and filled each halfway with hot water from the kettle. He added brandy and a shot of spiced rum to each glass, dropping in a cinnamon stick as well, then offered one to Julia. "Here. This'll warm you up."

With a nod of thanks, Julia accepted the glass and folded her hands around it. "I can't imagine someone choosing to live here voluntarily."

The young man sat back on the sofa opposite her, crossing his legs with an easy grace. "You're right; Callisto isn't exactly prime real estate." He took a sip from his glass. "If you want the rest of the world to forget you exist, this is the place to be."

Julia chuckled bitterly. "Then I should fit right in."

His sarcastic smile disappeared. "I'm sure there's someone who misses you, Julia." Gren lifted his head to where the dark square of window was lightening with grayish streaks of morning. "Somewhere, someone's thinking of you right now, and missing you." He swirled the contents of his glass. "Must be nice."

A flash of Spike as she last saw him--sleeping blissfully unaware as she packed her suitcase--flitted through Julia's mind, and she sighed. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll forget about me."

"But you can't forget about him," Gren supplied. "There's a bond there, a connection, one you can't break, no matter how far you run." He closed his azure eyes, a tiny smile on his face. "I know the feeling."

Julia sipped from her glass, feeling the spicy liquor warm her from the inside out. "Love messes everything up," she mused. "Why is that? Why does love have to come in and ruin everything?"

Gren's eyes glimmered with mischief. "That's the nature of love. It's random, you can't help it. It's a force of nature."

"Heh." Julia took a larger swig, and the tingle of the brandy sharpened into a trail of fire that scorched her throat. "A force of nature, all right. Like a hurricane or a tsunami." She watched as the cinnamon stick sank to the bottom of the glass. "We were all friends, just hanging out together, working, playing, fighting, like some weird set of siblings." She shook her head with a sigh, polishing off the rest of the drink.

"Then you fell in love, right?"

"No. HE fell in love with me." Julia sat back on the sofa, a pleasant muzziness blurring Gren's apartment into a comfortable, cloudy space. "Actually, they both did. I was pretending to love one, while I was really in love with the other."

Gren chuckled, setting his empty glass beside hers on the table. "And that's the moment it really got screwed up." He rose as gracefully as he had sat down. "Excuse me a moment."

"Sure." Julia watched him walk down the hall and into the bedroom. When he closed the door, she got up and wandered into the kitchen. _He's been so nice to me--even after I threatened to shoot him_, she mused, peeking into the fridge. _The least I can do is fix him some breakfast._ Besides, activity would be a welcome distraction; Gren had said he wasn't interested in women, but Julia wondered if he was as lonely as she was. 

__

Just sex, yammered a voice inside Julia's head as she dug out a well-used sauté pan from underneath the stove. _Sex is just sex. Supposed to be a natural high, something to get those endorphins running. _

With a shudder, she remembered one of the last times she and Vicious had been together, one where he decided to conduct an experiment--with her as the guinea pig, of course. He had brought along a vial of Bloody Eye, telling her with relish that it was one of the purest batches yet. They had already made love once that evening when she had finally agreed to let him dose her with it. He had done likewise, and they had attacked each other like wild dogs. 

Julia shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the puddle of eggs frying in the pan. The sex that night had been unbelievable, but she hated feeling out of control. What scared her most, however, was when she went to take a bath afterwards and happened to glance in the mirror. There were two perfect sets of Vicious' fingerprints around her throat--and she had no idea how they had gotten there.

__

Thus ended my career with recreational drugs, she harrumphed to herself. "Breakfast's ready," she called, spooning the eggs onto a plate and shoving two slices of bread in the toaster. Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked down the hall toward Gren's door. She knocked gently. "You awake in there?"

There was a hiss of pain from the other side of the door, followed by a strangled oath. "I'm fine," Gren choked out. A thud made the floor under Julia's feet shake, and suddenly she was cold sober.

"Like hell you are." She tried the knob, but it wouldn't turn. "Open this door."

"No," he moaned. "Julia, stay away!"

__

Tell the door to move, and it will move, came Spike's long-ago instruction into her head, giving her the impetus to kick the door open. In the corner by the bed, Gren cowered like a frightened animal, his arms wrapped around his middle, his knees drawn up to his chest. Alarmed, Julia dropped to her knees beside him.

"You're not fine," she spat. "Let me call a doctor."

"They can't do anything," Gren gasped. "Believe me--looked everywhere. No one can help." He tipped his head back into the corner, a grimace of pain marring his boyish features. "God, it hurts!"

Julia glanced around to see a syringe, a length of rubber tubing, and a glass vial of liquid strewn on the nightstand beside him. "Would some of that help?" she breathed.

"It--will. I took it a few minutes ago." His sweaty, ashen face was slowly regaining its color. "Usually it stops the attacks right away." With shaking hands, he pushed his hair back from where it had come undone from the ponytail. "I think I'm starting to develop a tolerance for it."

Her heart aching for him, Julia picked up the vial of liquid and tried to decipher the code on the outside. "What is it?"

Gren took the vial from her and stowed it and the tubing in the nightstand drawer, then swept the syringe into a sharps box. "Titan Opal. It's ironic; the drug is made from a chemical found in the venom of a Titan scorpion. That war is the whole reason I'm sick." He tilted his head at her, his lips curving into a sad smile. "Don't worry, though; I'm not contagious."

She frowned, something niggling at the back of her memory. "That's where you got that song, right?"

"That's right." With her help, he rose to his feet like a newborn foal, his long legs unsteady and weak. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Julia." His azure eyes were filled with regret.

"I've seen worse," she admitted, flashing back to Spike, bloodied and broken, in Mao's limousine. "Besides, what if you'd really needed help?"

They reached the couch, and Gren sank into the cushions with a grateful sigh. "I told you before that Death and I are old friends." He looked straight at her, his bluer-than-blue gaze cutting her to the quick. "When he comes, I'll open the door wide and let him in." He raised his hand to cup her chin, his long fingers brushing her cheek. "Like I did for you tonight."

With a sudden movement that surprised both of them, she was in his arms, her hands thrust deep into the sea of indigo hair that streamed over his shoulders. Their lips met clumsily at first, and then his kiss became more and more sure, hot and demanding. The pleasure built inside him until he couldn't stand it, and he broke away to hold her, trembling, against his chest. "Julia, Julia," he murmured against her cheek.

Guilt stained her to the marrow. _Forgive me, Spike! _"I'm sorry," she blurted. "That was foolish of me."

"Not foolish," he corrected her. "Maybe we both needed that."

Julia stood quickly and wiped her hands against her jeans. "I'm gonna go. Are you sure you'll be fine?"

Gren smiled. "I'm sure."

"Do you need anything?"

"No. I'm fine." He clasped her chilly fingers. "Go on home, Julia. I'll see you later."

It was only when she was outside in the icy dawn that she realized--he had never shown her the music box.

Every night after that, Julia came to the Blue Crow to listen to Gren play. Afterward, they would go back to his place and talk, or sometimes they would just sit together, staring into the fire or watching the snow fall outside the window. When his attacks came, she tried her best to comfort him as the drug burned its way through his veins. 

She had never asked about the music box again, figuring that when he was ready, he would tell her. They respected each other's privacy, treading lightly around the topic of their past lives. As much as she liked Gren, Julia knew there was no one she could trust; the Syndicate had eyes and ears all over the solar system. Gren was too sick, and she cared about him too much to bring that on him--that was, if he wasn't already involved.

One night, Julia slid into her usual seat to find the stage darkened, the saxophone missing from its stand. She turned to the bartender with a frown. "Where's Gren?"

"Called in sick," the bartender scowled. "Pisses me off--I make more money when he's playing." He bent down to retrieve a highball glass from the shelf below the bar. "I ran out of that fancy whiskey; you'll have to settle for--" The bartender straightened to find that the blonde woman had vanished, leaving her five-woolong payment for a drink he hadn't poured.

"Gren!" Julia beat on the door to Gren's apartment, ignoring the stares of the neighbors who peeped at her from behind their chain-locked doors. "Gren, it's me! Open up!"

The chain lock rattled, then the door swung open to reveal Gren in his bathrobe. Dark circles stained the skin under his eyes, and his hair hung in matted clumps around his pale face. "Julia," he breathed, a tiny smile lighting a blue spark in his eyes for just a moment. Then pain darkened them again, and he hunched his shoulders, as if his body was trying to collapse in on itself.

She stepped into the room; the neighbors didn't need a free show. "You're getting worse," she frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The pain passed, but his hands still trembled on the lock as he shut the door behind them. "There's nothing you can do for me, Julia," he sighed. "If I told you, all you would do is worry. You have enough worries without adding my sad existence to the pile."

"I hate it when you talk like that," she said darkly. "You sound just like him."

"The one you loved, or the one who loved you?"

Julia moved to the easy chair as Gren stretched himself out painfully on the sofa. "The one I loved." She watched Gren trying to get comfortable, feeling the waves of déjà vu wash over her. "He was in much the same boat as you are," she murmured, suddenly aching to talk about Spike. "One big knot of pain, with me trying to make sure he didn't leave the party."

A flash of hope passed across Gren's haggard features, hope that someone else had survived this ordeal. "You mean, he had the sickness?"

"No. He'd gotten shot up in a sting. It was a setup, pure and simple." She fidgeted with the tie of the sweater belted at her waist. "I'd never seen anyone have that many bullet holes in him and live. He lost one of his eyes in that shoot-out, and the prosthetic isn't quite the same color." She tilted her head back and swung her gaze back to Gren, who was listening attentively. "You can't look in his eyes for very long. It gives you a weird feeling."

Gren smiled. "He's a lucky man. I wish I could meet him."

"That one you were talking about, that first night we met," Julia mused. "Did you love…?"

"Him," he nodded. "I'd like to think so." Gren smiled, closing his eyes. "Maybe it was just the war that threw us together. Maybe under normal circumstances, we would have passed each other on the street and never given each other a second glance." He shrugged. "You might be more right than you know about me and your lover. I was set up too."

"What?" Something began to jangle a warning in the back of her mind, but she pressed on. "How do you mean?"

The azure eyes opened and fastened their gaze on a wall of photographs above the writing desk across the room. "After the war was over, we said our good-byes. I thought we would go home, go our separate ways. I was prepared never to see him again." He shook his head. "I did see him again…but it was in front of a board of inquiry. I was charged with being a spy for the Titan resistance--and there he stood on the witness stand, telling lie after lie about me." Gren pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but Julia saw the tears dripping down the side of his face. "He told them…he told them I confided in him after sex. He told them after we'd made love, I confessed everything and begged him not to tell, just so I could stay with him." His voice shook with anguish. "He said he slept with me just to get my confession, and that it made him sick to remember it."

Pain clawed at Julia to see Gren shuddering with sobs. "He was a monster, Gren; he doesn't deserve your love anymore." She rose to sit beside him, using a corner of the blanket to dry his tears. "Don't you see that?"

"I wish I could believe that," Gren whispered, lowering his hands to cover hers. "Even now, I remember everything about him. His voice, his skin…" He trailed off, and Julia knew he saw his lover's face in front of him instead of hers. "He was like some sort of snow god, an ice warrior, with that silver hair, and those pale, pale blue eyes."

Julia's heart shuddered in fear._ It's not possible!_ There was a moment's terrible, silent struggle within her, but she had to know. "Tell me his name."

"It was an apt one," Gren mused. "It fit him well."

Her words were a deadly hiss. "_What was his name?!"_

Gren tilted his head back against the pillow in bittersweet rapture. "Vicious."

Julia's entire body felt as if it would burst into flames, but the moment passed and she was numb. Rising from the couch, she retrieved her gun from her coat pocket and crossed the room to where Gren lay in blissful remembrance. _Maybe if I kill him right now, he'll live in that dream forever,_ she thought, leveling the gun at his forehead as she knelt beside him.

An icy jolt shot down her spine as Gren leaned against the barrel. "Please," he whispered, his eyes still closed. "Set me free, Julia."

"Where did he go, Gren?" She watched herself holding the gun against his head as if she was outside her body.

"Julia, please. I want to end this pain."

"Tell me where he went and I will."

Gren opened his eyes, pulling back to look at her beyond the gun. "I was thrown in prison after that. I don't know, I thought he went home, back to…" Sudden comprehension dawned on his face, turning it even paler than before. "….Julia." He nodded, and she could almost hear the pieces clicking into place in his brain. "You're _his_ Julia! Oh, God…" Gren fell back on the pillow, his body beginning to shake in the first throes of an attack. "In the drawer," he choked out, "Something--need to show you."

"Never mind that." Laying her gun on the table, Julia took up the syringe and filled it with Titan Opal, then tugged Gren's arm straight enough so she could jab him with the needle. He tried to curl up in pain, and the needle skidded across his arm, leaving a trail of red dots on the pale skin. "Gren, I need you to stay still. I have to know about Vicious. _Hold still!_" 

With effort on both their parts, Julia finally got the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger, sending the burning venom into Gren's tortured body. "Thank you," he gasped, just before the drug swept him into a blessedly painless nothing.

Gren awoke to delicate, tinkling notes that plucked the surface of his awareness like a geisha playing her _samisen_. For a moment, he wondered if he was dead instead of asleep, but the smell of food tickled his nose, and he opened his eyes to see the dingy light of noon falling through the square window. "Julia?"

"Help yourself to some soup," her voice echoed from the shadows. "It's chicken noodle. That's all they had at the corner store."

He rose from the couch, cloaking his shoulders with the blanket. "Thanks. I love chicken noodle." He crossed the room to where she sat at the writing desk, following her gaze to the pictures on the wall. A tiny set of music box works plinked beside her, its tiny crank winding around in time to the tune. "I see you found it," he nodded.

"Open it," she commanded, her voice leaden.

His brows drew together. "What? You mean, break it apart?" He shook his head. "Julia…surely you wouldn't be so cruel…as to take away the one thing that reminds me of a time when life was more than just cold and pain and needles."

"Spike used to tell me…that this life is just a dream. So it doesn't matter. Maybe one of these days, you'll die and wake up and be happy again." She turned to him, her face little more than a pale, moonlike outline in the dim light. "That's what I'm waiting for, to wake up so I can be with him again." She nodded toward the tiny machine that had finally gone silent. "Open it. Just because you didn't buy it off him doesn't mean he gave it freely."

"Let's pretend just one more time," Gren whispered, winding the key. "You and Spike, me and Vicious, together again." The tune released its thin melody into the air and they listened until the very last note died away.

Julia picked up the music box and pried away the tiny steel plate on the bottom. Inside was a silver button no bigger than the tip of a man's finger, and she shook it out onto the desk. "This is a solar transmitter." She tipped it into his hand. "If you go anywhere in the galaxy, Vicious can use the signal to triangulate your position."

"We used these on Titan," Gren breathed. "That son of a bitch."

"The moment the signal stops, he's going to come looking for you." Julia folded her arms across her sweater. "You know that, don't you?"

His azure eyes turned the color of cold blue steel. "Then let him come. Maybe I can ask him why he betrayed me." He gave her the transmitter. "Would you care to do the honors?"

Julia took the silver button into the bathroom and dropped it on the tile, then crushed it beneath the heel of her boot. When the transmitter was nothing but bits of metal and wire, she glanced up at Gren, watching as his eyes filled with tears. "Time for me to go," she murmured.

The trunk of the convertible slammed shut, and Gren clapped the dust from his hands. "Looks like you're all set," he nodded to the blonde woman standing by the drivers' side door. "I wish I could go with you."

"I wish you could, too," Julia sighed. "Maybe we could find a doctor who could cure you."

He smiled. "Don't start that again," he scolded gently. "You have your destiny, and I have mine. That's all there is to it."

"I know." She laid her hand against his smooth cheek. "I guess this is goodbye, Grencia Mars Elijah Duo Eckner."

Gren's eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement at the sound of his full name. "I guess so, Miss Julia." He covered her hand with his, then drew her into his arms and hugged her. "My love goes out to you and Spike. Go and find him, and be happy."

"I'm gonna try. Take care, Gren." She got into the car and shut the door, and the vehicle pulled away from the curb. He watched as she turned on to the road toward the spaceport, his hand lifted in farewell until she was out of sight.

When he opened the door of his apartment, the phone was chirping to itself in the corner. The answering machine clicked on as he shut the door.

"This is Gren. Leave a message. Thanks." _Beeeeep._

"Gren."

The voice was like the scratch of diamonds on glass, and Gren whirled to fix the answering machine with a hard look, daring it to make those same noises again.

"You know who this is." Long pause, then: "Call this number: 034-943-987. Tell whoever answers that you need Stage 2 Titan Opal vaccine. It will be delivered within eight hours."

His heart pounding, Gren stalked across the room to bend over the answering machine, but he stopped short of picking up the handset. _This life is just a dream,_ Julia's words echoed in his head. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up just yet.

"After you get it, call the number that will be in the shipment. You'll receive further instructions then. I'll be waiting." _Click._

Gren sat heavily in the chair by the desk. He unpinned the picture of himself and Vicious in their desert soldier garb from the wall, staring at Vicious' blurry image until the streetlight came on outside the window.


	8. Reunion

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop; Sunrise, Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.

Beyond Beautiful

By The Lady Razorsharp

Part 8: Reunion

What on earth is going on in my heart

Has it turned as cold as stone

Seems these days I don't feel anything

Less it cuts me right down to the bone

My oh my you know it just don't stop

It's in my mind I wanna tear it up

I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off

But it's not enough

It takes a lotta love

It takes a lotta love my friend

To keep your heart from freezing

To push on till the end

--David Gray

Shin opened the door to the shrine room, his footsteps muffled by the heavy maroon carpet. On the dais in front of him lay a simple wooden casket, draped with a pall embroidered with the Red Dragon crest. Small ruby and amber votives flickered on the dais just beyond the circle of cloth.  Elaborate floral arrangements flanked the coffin, and a pyramid of perfect oranges nestled on an antique lacquerware platter beside Lin's silver-framed photograph. Incense wafted from smoldering sticks left by those who had previously paid their respects to Lin, and the sweet, spicy smoke perfumed the air to a heaviness that pressed against Shin's chest.

He remembered how he and his brother had entered this room and knelt together at Spike's coffin, watching the flames make Spike's garnet eyes flicker with the imitation of life. It had been almost enough to make them believe the frame was only a window, and Spike was alive somewhere, just out of reach. 

Julia had pressed an object into Shin's hand that day, and it was only later when he went to retrieve his house key that he realized what Julia had given him. Now the oil lighter lay heavy in his hand, the light gleaming golden from its worn surface. He thumbed it to life, and it gave out a pale orange flame that did nothing to dispel the darkness.

Picking out two sticks of his own to light, Shin knelt in front of his brother's solemn-faced portrait. After lighting the incense, he blew the sticks out with a small puff of air, and the smoke lay its burden against Shin's chest again. 

The prayers for the repose of his brother's soul came unbidden and emotionless into his mind. Between his joined palms, the incense twirled its languid twin plumes into the air, the ghostly columns rippling with some unseen breath one moment and then flowing straight up the next. 

On his way back from Callisto, Vicious had radioed ahead for Shin to meet him at the spaceport. As Vicious emerged from the Red Dragon cruiser, Shin had fallen in beside him. _Lin is dead_, Vicious had said, without preamble. There had been no other explanation, and there was no need for one. Lin had devoted himself to Spike and Vicious, choosing to serve the latter with loyalty when he would have served the former with love. 

_Forgive me, big brother,_ Shin's thoughts echoed in the cavern of his empty heart for his minutes-older twin. _I couldn't have done what you did. Not for Vicious._

Shin stuck the ends of the incense into a black-glazed earthenware bowl filled with red Martian sand, where the sticks continued to curl their way into oblivion. Sitting back on his heels, he contemplated his brother's face; the short-cropped, dark chestnut hair, the wide emerald eyes, the finely drawn mouth, the thin, elegant eyebrows, the long, sharp nose. It was a mirror image that would only now look back at Shin through the mirror. 

Rage welled in tandem with the tears, and Shin's hand flashed out toward the bowl. The broken incense sticks scattered among the ruby drifts of sand, which stained the white border of the pall with a fine red powder. The bowl smacked against the glass of the photo, and a long, jagged crack split Lin's face in two. Rising to his feet, Shin swept the pile of oranges into disarray with the toe of his boot, and he drove his heel into the fragile wood of the tray. He ripped the lilies from their places amongst the camellias and peonies, bruising the delicate petals as he trod them underfoot. Flinging aside the heavy pall, Shin tore the lid from the coffin to find Lin, still and pale, lying amidst folds of white satin.

Lin's eyes opened slowly. The overturned votives had begun to lick at the linen pall, and Lin's deep evergreen irises glimmered in the light.

A single modulated syllable chimed against Shin's brain: _No._

"Why?" Shin's tears pattered against his brother's waxy cheek. "I need you, Lin." 

_I'm sorry. _

"Damnit, Lin! Why did it have to be for _him_?" Shin tipped his head forward to rest his brow against Lin's cool forehead, a distraught Narcissus trapped by his own dead reflection. 

_Jacob have I loved, Esau have I hated._

"Please!" Shin sobbed, taking his brother's face between his hands. "Please, Lin!" 

_Always love you, little brother._

Shin whirled to find a wall of fire bearing down on them. Something at his back gave a hard shove, and he threw his arms up in front of his face as he fell headlong through the flames. 

His eyes snapped open. He was still kneeling in his place before the pall-draped coffin, the bowl undisturbed, the incense a black smudge of soot on the red sand. Before him, Lin's Kodachrome eyes danced in the light of the guttering votives. The oranges gleamed in their ordered pile on the tray. As Shin watched, a stargazer lily dropped a single petal on the maroon carpet.

Shin rose to his feet and bowed deeply to his brother's coffin, then turned and left the room.

Vicious, with the black-winged cormorant perched on his shoulder, was waiting for Shin in the harsh fluorescent glare of the hallway. Vicious turned to walk toward the elevator, and Shin fell in step, their boots clicking against the tiles. 

"It's all coming apart," Vicious said, his voice an icy whisper. 

"They will try to kill you," Shin said in Lin's flat, cold voice. "They wish make an example of you."

"Yes," Vicious agreed. "I am sure they do." 

He stopped, and Shin followed suit. Vicious turned and reached out his right hand, brushing his thumb over Shin's cheek. "I remember you then. You were so young," Vicious murmured, as Shin stood, unblinking. "You loved him, didn't you?"

Shin swallowed as quietly as he could. "I loved my brother, yes."

Vicious' top teeth glinted briefly, his chuckle little more than a heavy exhale. Dropping his hand, he produced a slip of paper from somewhere in his coat and tucked it into Shin's breast pocket. "I have a job for you. Go to the address written on this note." He turned to resume his progress down the hall.

Shin's brow furrowed the barest millimeter. "What should I do when I get there?"

With his profile toward Shin, only Vicious' thin smile was visible beneath the tangle of white hair. "You are to meet the past."

~*****~

_You are to meet the past._

If he hadn't been so numb, he thought, he would have wondered at the single-mindedness with which he did Vicious' bidding. It was simply the training that Vicious and Spike had beaten into them—sometimes literally—that moved Shin along the rainy streets of Alva City. Even through his red-hot rage against Vicious, there remained the compulsion to see the job through, the task completed. One foot in front of the other, inhale, exhale.

At the end of the next block, he ducked into a convenience store. A brown-eyed girl with boy-short brown hair smiled prettily at him from behind the bulletproof glass.

"Welcome! Can I help you?"

He shoved the slip of paper at her through the service window, remembering at the last moment to soften the bark into a request. "Can you tell me where this address is from here?" 

She studied the paper, pursing her rosy lips in thought. "It's not far. You just go up the street and make a left. It's called the Tower Hotel—it'll be on the right hand side of the street."

Though he was sure his face would crack with the effort, Shin managed one of his gangster-boy smiles. "Thank you very much." He backed away from the counter and kissed his gloved fingertips in her direction. The old lady rearranging the cigarette display frowned, but the girl blushed and gave him a little wave. He turned with a flourish that made his coat flare and flashed the girl one last smile before he went back out into the rain.

Shin raised his hand and rapped twice on the door the directions had led him to. The peephole flickered briefly, and the door swung open to reveal a face that had only lived in Shin's dreams for the last three years. 

Julia was as beautiful as ever, with her golden hair and her summer-sky blue eyes, but her face was pale.She regarded Shin silently for a moment. "What do you want?" she asked.

"I need to talk to you."

She nodded gravely. "Is anyone waiting for you downstairs?"

"No. I'm here alone." 

She stepped aside, and he made a short bow of thanks as he entered the apartment. After a glance around, Julia shut the door and locked the deadbolt. "Stay here," she instructed, and disappeared into the other room. Shin did as he was told, and in a moment Julia reappeared with a snowy white towel in her hands. She handed him the towel.

Shin mopped his face and rubbed his sodden hair. "I'm sorry about the rug," Shin began, but Julia waved his words away.

"Here, let me have your coat." Shin divested himself of the heavy wet wool, revealing a well-worn gun holster strapped around his broad shoulders. As Julia bent to hang the coat on the back of a chair close to the radiator, Shin noticed that Julia's gun was stuck down the back of her bleach-blue jeans.

"Have a seat," she offered. She went into the pantry and poured two fingers' worth of brandy into a tumbler. Tossing it back in one shot, Julia wiped her eyes on her dark blue sweater-clad sleeve and refilled the glass, then took the glass back to the living room.

Shin was perched on the edge of the sofa, his eyes fixed unseeing on the magazines scattered on the coffee table. When he heard Julia come in, he jumped to his feet. 

"This will warm you up," Julia said as she proffered the tumbler. Shin accepted with a nod of thanks and resumed his seat.

Julia waited until Shin had tipped the last of the brandy down his throat. "It's been a long time, Shin," she murmured. "How did he find me?"

Shin put the glass on the table. "Vicious is Vicious. What he wants to know, he knows." 

"I heard he was killed in the war on Titan."

Shin shrugged. "As Vicious-sama says, the rumors of his death were greatly exaggerated."

Spike would have grinned at that idea, and Julia allowed herself a thin smile in memory of that grin. "Apparently." She studied the toes of her boots. "And how is Mao-taijin?"

Shin's face darkened. "Mao-taijin is dead, Julia."

After a moment, Julia nodded. "I heard about that, too. I just wanted to make sure it was true."

"You're so sure I'd tell you the truth?" Shin countered.

Julia raised her head. "Vicious used to say that you two would never be able to lie and get away with it," she sighed. "He said it was your angelic faces."

Tears welled in Shin's eyes and fell in silent, diamond-bright drops. "Lin is dead," he murmured, Vicious' echo ringing in Shin's ears. 

"What—"

"He died protecting Vicious-sama." Julia sat stunned into silence as Shin continued. "It was on Jupiter."

_Gren. _The handsome saxophone player's face flitted through Julia's mind, the memory of his bluer-than-blue gaze bringing bittersweet stirrings in her heart. _Did you get to ask Vicious why he betrayed you? I wish I'd been there._

As Shin dissolved into sobs, Julia put her arms around him as she had when the twins were younger. She stroked his hair, finally understanding why Vicious had sent the boy.

She had been running for over three years, but she knew that it was pointless to run anymore. Vicious had found her; there was nowhere else to run.

_Keep dreaming, Julia. It's never going to happen._

It also meant that somewhere, Spike was alive, and the game was drawing to a close. 

_Either you kill him, or you both die. Those are your only options._

"Time to go home," she whispered.


End file.
